A Series of Drabbles
by PomegranateQueen
Summary: A series of mostly unrelated drabbles set in the HP universe. The pairings vary, but are mostly Harry/Ginny, with a sprinkling of others like Draco/Ginny and a few parings I loathe: Harry/Hermione, Harry/Draco, and Scorpius/Rose
1. Animagus

**Summary:** A series of (mostly) unrelated drabbles in the Harry Potter universe (which, alas, I do not own.)

Pre-Fic Note: This drabble was done for a contest at the Sorting(underscore)(underscore)Hat on livejournal. The objective was to write a 250 word drabble that had to include the word "animagus".

Also, this is Pre-HBP.

* * *

Draco Malfoy could not believe his luck. His weekend had been shaping up to be quite dismal at best—having failed both a Potions and a Transfiguration exam as well as catching Pansy and Crabbe snogging in a broom cupboard—before he stumbled upon the scene before him. Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley were engaging in what appeared to be a clandestine meeting at—here, he had to check his watch—half past midnight. As the two attempted to slink down the corridors—sans Potter's blasted invisibility cloak—Draco decided to answer opportunity's knock. Following at a distance that ensured concealment, he tracked the couple's progress to the Astronomy Tower. 

Though he did not want to watch any displays of affection between the two Gryffindors—even Draco had limits as to what he could stomach—he wanted to make certain he had something perfectly incriminating. He was not above snitching on Potter; hadn't been in first year and still wasn't in sixth year. He did not get close enough to hear their conversation; instead he pressed himself against the stairway wall and stole a peek every now and then. On his seventh or eighth glance, he realized—to the relief of his dinner—that they would _not_ be making with any sort of romance. No, they appeared to be attempting some sort of spell.

On her fifteenth try, Weasel-girl's form shimmered and shrank into a small, furry rodent. Draco could barely contain his amusement when he realized what her animagus form was. It was pure irony. The Weasel-girl was a bloody weasel.


	2. Chimera

Pre-Fic Note: This drabble was also done for a contest at the Sorting(underscore)(underscore)Hat. This one's objective was to be 250 words and had to include the words "Chimera", "broomstick", and had to mention one of the Lestranges (I believe, but I could be wrong as I haven't hunted down the contest entry...)

Also, this is Pre-HBP.

* * *

"H-Harry..." 

"What Ron?"

"Ron? What do you wa-AH!"

"Ron, Harry, what's the matter?"

"Ch-ch-"

"What was that?"

"Goodness."

"Oh, my."

"Yes, Minerva, that certainly is unexpected."

"Is that what I think it is?"

"Is what what you think it--EE!"

"Why is Bellatrix Lestrange standing by that...that..."

"Chimera."

"Huh?"

"Well, if I remember correctly, it's a chimera."

"Certainly not a broomstick."

"You are, indeed, correct Miss Granger. Five points for Gryffindor."

"Albus, do you really think it's appropriate to be awarding house points at a time like this?"

"Um, guys?"

"Yea, Gin?"

"Don't you think we should run?"

"A capital idea Miss Weasley. Twenty points for Gryffindor."

"Albus!"

"Oh, dear. I do believe the chimera has bitten the hand that feeds it, so to speak."

"The head, you mean."

"That bloody thing just decapitated Lestrange!"

"Thank you, Captain Obvious."

"What happened to running?"

"Ah, yes, thank you for reminding me, Harry. Lemon drop, anyone?"

"Bugger it all, I'm running."

"Right there with you, mate."

"Seamus? When did you get here?"

"Just about the time that, er, whatever-it-is, took that bird's head off."

"Bloody hell, just run you idiots!"

"You know, she's kinda sexy when she yells like that, ain't she?"

"Finnegan! That's my sister!"

"Sorry mate, but you've gotta admit--"

"No I don't."

"Oh, c'mon. You know what they say? Red in the head fire in the--"

"Finish that sentence, Finnegan, and I'll--"

"You know, I think you're right Seamus."

"Harry?"

"Sorry mate, but you're sister's a firecracker in the sack."


	3. Frantic

Pre-Fic Note: This drabble was a plot-bunny, not a contest. Also, It's a little...risque.

* * *

It was frantic and borne of desperation. Both could not deny the need to feel it—to actually _be_ with someone—before the Earth swallowed them up and fate denied them the chance. Neither knows whether or not it would have happened on its own; if there hadn't been a war to fight, would they have eventually slept together? Given time, would they have been together? They would like to think so, but both have their own lingering, niggling doubts.

But there is no place for doubts as he kisses her lips and moves intimately within her. For right now, stuck in _this_ moment, all he can see is the beauty of her beneath him—her sweat-coated skin, passion-tangled hair, long eyelashes curved against her cheeks, and lips that part and beg to be kissed. Later, he will wonder if she chose him for him or if it was some other irrepressible, unpredictable motivation. As he feels her body clenching around him and her cries of rapture echo in his ears, he decides he doesn't particularly care.


	4. The Only HHr I Will Ever Write

Pre-Fic Note: This one was done for a challenge I started in sortinghat(underscore)huff on livejournal. I called it the "Pairings You Hate" challenge. So, First I wrote H/Hr. ThenI wrote a D/H drabble that is semi-related to this one (it's the next chapter.)

Also, this is Pre-HBP.

* * *

Hermione Granger had never figured herself to be one for a whirl-wind romance, but that was exactly what she found herself in with one Harry Potter. When she sat down and thought about it, she found it more than a little hard to believe that a sensible girl such as herself to be sucked into a secret relationship with a boy who was supposed to be one of her best friends all because he was the best kisser she'd ever encountered. Gazing dreamily at the wall of the Common Room, she thought about just how wonderful his kisses were.

"Oi! Hermione!" Ron's voice snapped her out of her daydream ponderings. She blushed guiltily at being caught.

"Sorry, Ron. I've just been a little…preoccupied lately."

"Right, sure. You think you could look over mine and Harry's Potions essays?" He asked eagerly.

With a sigh and a quick, sly glance at Harry—who wore a cat-that-ate-the-canary grin—she replied, "Oh, all right. Hand them over."

Ron seemed entirely too cheered by the fact that she had caved so soon and she desperately hoped it wasn't because he assumed she felt anything but friendship for him. A wave of shame washed over her; she and Harry had yet to tell Ron of their relationship. She resolved to speak with Harry about telling Ron later.

Hours later found Hermione stuck in a random broom cupboard with Harry, his mouth caressing a particularly sensitive spot.

"Harry…"

"Hm…?"

"Harry…Mmm…Harry…Stop." She pushed at his shoulders, pulling him off of her neck and effectively putting as much distance between them as the small space would allow (which wasn't very much at all.)

"What Hermione?" He asked with an exasperated sigh. At his tone, she gave him what she hoped was a stern glare. "Really, Hermione, if you had wanted to _talk, _we could've stayed in the Common Room."

"Not about this." She said forcefully. "Stop being such a prat, Harry. Honestly."

Deflating slightly, he relented. "All right, what do you want to talk about?"

"When are we going to tell Ron about…us? I'm sick of lying to him about this. The longer we keep this up-"

"We're not telling him. Not yet."

"'Not yet.' Why not yet? Haven't we kept this secret long enough? He deserves to know!" Hermione replied in a furious whisper.

"'Deserves to know?' He _deserves _to know?"

"Yes, of course he deserves to know! He's our best friend!"

"Oh, right. Because he's our best friend, he deserves to know that his two best friends have been lying to him for going on seven months now and shagging like mad behind his back. Right, like _that _wouldn't upset him."

"I _know_ it would upset him, but-"

"_He can't know._"

"What do you mean by that? Do you just plan to keep this-" here, she gestures between them, "a secret forever? Are you even _serious_ about me? At all?"

"Hermione, of course I'm serious about you. I'm mad about you, luv, you know that." Harry said, softening his tone and pulling her towards him. His lips found _that_ spot on her neck again and his hands wandered slightly to _another_ spot and she found herself completely beyond speech and utterly unable to remember what they were arguing about.


	5. The Only HD I Will Ever Write

Pre-Fic Note: This one was done for a challenge I started in sortinghat(underscore)huff on livejournal. I called it the "Pairings You Hate" challenge. So, First I wrote the previous H/Hr drabble.Then I wrotethis D/H drabble that is semi-related to this one.

Also, this is Pre-HBP.

* * *

Harry ran his hands through his lover's hair, marveling at how soft the other boy managed to keep it. The other boy's lips crashed into his and their tongues twisted and tangled for what seemed like forever and a millisecond all at the same time. They pulled away, both feeling quite breathless.

"Miss me?" Draco whispered against his skin before nipping at his earlobe, and then, strangely, sniffing Harry's robes. His face contorted into a mask of revulsion. "You smell like _her_."

Harry blushed. "Yea, sorry about that. She sort of cornered me before I had a chance to get away."

"Hmm…" Draco moved his face closer to Harry's, almost kissing him, but pulling away just before their lips could connect. "I would assume that is the reason you were late?"

"Yea." Harry says, nodding distractedly as Draco's breath dances just above the skin of his neck, enticing him into arching his neck and praying for contact. Draco pulls away, wearing a slow, smug grin.

"Well, Potter, I expect retribution for being kept waiting. I'm sure you'll think of something." Draco's grin turns salacious as he leans in; Harry returns his grin and captures his lips.

Two hours, lots of panting and grunting, and some very _manly_ squealing later, Harry was sneaking back into his dorm. He was quite worn out—he'd more than made up for being late—and failed to notice the pile of books that lay directly between him and his extremely inviting bed. And so, when his foot and shin crashed into the pile and sent them sprawling about the floor, he let out a rather impressive amount of cursing.

"Harry, mate? That you?" Ron's voice queried sleepily from his bed.

"Yea. Sorry. Go back to sleep, Ron." Harry replied, hoping to bypass the inevitable questioning of his whereabouts.

"Where you been, anyway?" No such luck apparently. Ron yawned pronouncedly.

"Down at the kitchens—midnight snack, and all that."

"Oh, right." Another yawn. "Night Harry."

"Night Ron."

Harry climbed into his bed and dreamed about being chased by a bushy haired monster until a silver dragon burnt it to a crisp and saved him.


	6. Existentialism And Shower Sex

Pre-Fic Note: This drabble was also a plot bunny. Draco/Ginny!Angst.

Also, this is Pre-HBP.

* * *

They're wet and he's pounding into her so hard her back strikes the wall every time. She knows she's going to bruise but she can't bring herself to care. And she doesn't know how _this_ got started exactly or who initiated it or anything like that because it doesn't really _matter._ As long as he's in her, touching her, _fucking her._ It doesn't matter and she doesn't care. She knows she'll care in the morning and she'll hate herself and she'll cry. She knows she'll walk down to breakfast with Harry, Ron, and Hermione, and they'll ask her what's wrong and has she been crying and she'll lie to them the way she does every time. And she knows that if he looks at her just once, she'll lose her appetite and turn around and leave. Because she can't eat when he's looking at her—because he _knows_ about her, about what she likes, and because it's _him_. She can't force herself into pleasant conversation with her friends when the boy she's fucking is watching her. She can't because she's Ginny Weasley and because he's Draco Malfoy and no one is going to approve of their relationship; not even house unity promoting Dumbledore. But they can't go back to _not_ touching each other because then they wouldn't have each other and neither is willing to accept not having the other. But it doesn't matter to her just then because he's shifted and changed the angle just so and is hitting _that_ spot and—ohmygod—she's coming and then _he_'s coming. And then they're a tangle of sated limbs sinking to the floor of the Quidditch changing-room showers. 


	7. Blame It On The Hormones

Pre-Fic Note: A (somewhat)humorous take on teen sexuality applied to HP. Written Pre-HBP.

**Blame It On The Hormones

* * *

**

It was quite late when the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain finally called it quits. Each member had to rush just to get into the showers and back to the Tower before curfew, lest the notoriously nasty Filch, or his Mrs. Norris catch them. So, it is quite easily that one could forget something in his or her Quidditch locker. And even easier to assume that all of his or her teammates would have cleared out by the time he or she happened to make it back to the showers.

Harry Potter, unluckily, was the one who had quite easily forgotten to grab his wand—thinking it was safely in one of the pockets of his school robes—and was now making a mad dash back to the Quidditch Pitch, all the while cursing his own stupidity under his breath. The last thing he needed was to be caught out of bounds, which would result in the loss of house points as well as earn him a detention.

His only goal that night, as he rushed to retrieve his wand, was to go in, grab his wand, and make a quick, clean getaway.

Upon entering the foyer to the locker room (where the Quidditch team met once both the witches and wizards had exited their designated showers), he heard a most curious noise coming from the witches' side of the showers. Was that…someone giggling?

Curiosity winning out against better judgment, he decided to investigate.

Opening the door to the girls' shower, his ears were able to catch onto the odd giggling noise better. Stepping fully into the forbidden territory and sneaking between the lockers, the was able to hear even better still.

"Are you sure this was a good idea, love?" A familiar—and decided male—voice asked.

"Of course. Why wouldn't it be?" The giggling voice answered, it too quite familiar. An exasperated sigh. "Dean, it's fine. Honestly. I swear, the rest of the team's long gone by now."

_Dean?_ Harry's eyes nearly bugged out of his head. _Dean Thomas?_ He risked a glance in the direction of the voices and was provided with the answer. And if his dormmate was here that meant that…_Ginny? Ginny Weasley is the giggling witch?_

Here, he could not even risk a glance.

"If you're sure…" Dean trailed off. The smacking sound of kissing could be heard.

_Ginny Weasley is sneaking into the showers to have a quick shag with Dean bloody Thomas?_

A throaty moan filled the air. "OH, Merlin!"

If it were possible, Harry's incredulity grew.

"Dean! Dean! Sweet Merlin! Dean!" The giggler—whom Harry was _still_ refusing to believe was Ginny—called out.

In the back of Harry's consciousness, an odd thought popped up, wondering quite off-handedly if there were an auditory equivalent to a "Peeping Tom."

"Ahhh! Ohhh! So tight!"

It was like a train wreck; no matter how horrific, he just couldn't look away. Or in this case, walk away.

"Harder! Dean! Harder!"

Heaving panting and moaning continued for several minutes. Harry was almost certain he could leave.

"Oh! I can't—I'm going to—Ahhh!"

Incoherent moaning and mumbling followed this revelation.

"Gin?"

_Sweet Merlin! Ginny Weasley _did_ sneak into the showers for a quick shag _and _I listened to it!_

"Hmm…?"

"Do you…what I mean is…IthinkIloveyou."

Silence reined and Harry strained his ears to hear her reply.

"Oh."

"Dean?"

"Yes, Ginny?"

"That was…very nice. Thank you."

A pregnant pause.

"We should go back to the castle now, Dean."

"Right. Right, of course."

The sounds of clothes being replaced and settled stunned Harry into movement. He quickly departed from the girls' showers and, stopping by his locker to grab his wand, left the lockers as well.

That night, Harry had quite a lot to think on.

First of all, he was not certain whether he should inform Ron that Dean Thomas was shagging his sister in the showers down at the Quidditch Pitch.

Secondly, he was both disgusted and turned on by what he'd heard. He _was_ a sixteen year-old male, after all.

Thirdly, Ginny did not love Dean Thomas. This revelation brought him great joy, which was quite odd as it was obvious Dean _did_ love Ginny and Harry most certainly did not want his dormmate hurt. Before that night, he really hadn't felt any animosity towards Dean at all. The guy was quite amiable.

Fourthly, he was re-evaluating his opinion of one Ginerva Weasley. What kind of girl would…with a boy she wasn't in love with?

A voice, sounding very much like Mrs. Weasley, answered that thought. _A scarlet woman._

Was Ginny a scarlet woman?

_No_, Harry decided. _Gin's not like that._ Even though it sounded as if the whole evening had been her idea and Dean had in no way coerced her into…well, certain acts. _Maybe_, he thought as he rolled over in bed, _girls are just as randy as us_.


	8. The Fourth Floor Loo Incident

Pre-fic Note: Another humor piece revolving around teen sexuality. (Or, alternately, just another bit of brain-vomit.) Written Pre-HBP.

**The Fourth Floor Loo Incident **

* * *

At sixteen, Harry Potter had never seen a girl naked (unless you counted the witches in those magazines Seamus had brought in third year—which he didn't.) The female form was more than a little intimidating and sometimes made it quite difficult for him to walk. In fact, he was quite inexperience when it came to girls. He'd never even managed to get a handle on Cho before things went sour. 

Though none of this was passing through his mind at 8:04 on the morning of his sixteenth birthday. In fact, not much was passing through his mind at all. All he could seem to think about was the very naked girl in front of him. It was like a flashing neon sign in his head: NAKED GIRL! NAKED GIRL! NAKED GIRL! HOLY MERLIN, NAKED GIRL!

Peripherally, he was aware of his jeans being tighter, that the fourth floor lavatory at 12 Grimmauld Place was a lot steamier than usual, and Ginny Weasley's face was frozen—as was the rest of her body—in shocked horror. But, really, he couldn't be bothered by all those trivial details. His eyes lit first on her full, young breasts. They weren't like the ones on the _Playwizard_ models, but their shape was still lovely enough to make his palms itch to hold them. His gaze shifted from her enticing chest, down her almost perfectly flat stomach, past the swell of her graceful hips, and down to the patch of coarse hair that told him she was, indeed, a natural redhead (not that there was ever any doubt.)

And _(Sweet Merlin!)_ he had never even _seen_ one of those before. True, he couldn't really it now, but just the thought of seeing it, sent twinges to his crotch.

"Harry!"

Ginny's lungs, it appeared, had recovered. As had the rest of her; she quickly pulled a medium-sized, white towel around her torso, quickly covering herself. Harry's brain regained full function at the abject lack of full frontal female nudity and extreme embarrassment set in as both their cheeks stained red enough to match any Weasley's hair.

"S-s-so s--sorry, G-ginny." He sputtered hastily and was out of the room in a flash, making sure to shut the door.


	9. Six Words

**Title:** Six Words  
**Word Count:** 250  
**Characters:** Molly Weasley and Ron (kinda)  
**Rating:** Not-At-All-Naughty  
**Disclaimer:** These characters are so not mine.  
**Author's Note:** This was written for a drabble challenge on livejournal in the sortinghat community. The requirements for the challenge were: _So, we shall have the drabbles set at 100 points for 250 words. Words to be used are: peppermint, baby, rain, rise. 25 extra points if you manage to use all of them in the same sentence. If you can get this to me in under 1 hour from the time this is posted, then I might throw in an extra 25 points

* * *

_

_Six little words should not be able to trouble a person so much._ Though Molly Weasley knew well that they could. It was late February--the last day of it, in fact--and the nursery still smelled of peppermint and baby powder (there had been an unfortunate incident involving the twins, several candy-canes, a bottle of baby powder, and the lace curtains her mother had given her when she'd been pregnant with Bill). No matter what she did, the smell prevailed. She'd washed and rinsed the curtains over and over and yet...the scent clung heavily to them. But that was neither here nor there (it actually was here, or there if you want to think of it that way, but it wasn't relevant at the moment, not really). She looked towards the curtains and outside the window where some precipitation was falling that might've been snow or rain--or some combination of both. Her eyes drifted past the window, the curtains, and to the wall. It was pink, the whole nursery was. It didn't matter that the Healer had said those six words ("You're having a boy again, Molly") she wanted a little girl and would not change the color of the nursery until she gave birth and saw for herself that her baby was a boy. Her eyes drifted back to the window and bulged as she felt a familiar pain in her back. She hoped this one would be born quickly, before the sun rose the next day.


	10. A Prelude to Chimera

This drabble was written for a challenge at sortinghat(underscore)(underscore)main on lj. The challenge required that it be 250 words long and include the words chimera, line, knoll, and parchment.

Also, this is a sort of preface (if you like) to my other chimera drabble (the second in this collection of drabbles).

* * *

It was a Saturday and the day was moving slowly. This did not bother Harry much; it gave him time to have a stroll around the lake with Ginny. A grin stretched his mouth and he looked to his right. At the same moment, Ginny turned her head to look at him. She wore a matching grin with a delightful flush spreading across her cheeks. Fleetingly, Harry felt perfectly happy. Ginny shoved playfully against his ribs. She giggled and he laughed with her.

Their walk continued, silent but for a few random sighs and giggles. After a time—Harry couldn't say how much time had passed—he spotted Hermione on a knoll, propped against the base of a tree, intently studying a book. Purposefully, he directed himself and Ginny to where Hermione sat. Hermione looked up, blinked, and smiled.

"Hello," Hermione said once they reached her.

"Do you mind if we sit?" Ginny asked.

"No, not at all." They sat.

"So, what're you reading?" Harry asked before he could stop himself.

"Oh, it's this fascinating book on dangerous magical creatures. This entry on chimera is really interesting. It says…" Hermione continued, but her words were lost on Harry. Ginny had shifted, her breast brushing his arm. He jerked his head to look at her, surprise on his face. A sly-but-shy grin came across her lips. "...but that line doesn't fit! Oh, where did I put that parchment …" Hermione's voice broke into their moment, drawing him away from Ginny's grin.


	11. Dragons and Other Scary, Scaly Creatures

This one is also written for a drabble challenge at sorting(underscore)(underscore)hat on livejournal. The requirements were: 250 words and the words candle, avada kedavra, dragon, and wand. Pre-R/Hr, set during the Trio's 6th year.

* * *

Ron sat next to Hermione in the Common Room, staring at the wall instead of his essay (on turning a candle into a hamster). Hermione was studiously scribbling at her parchment. Harry and Ginny were off somewhere and—he didn't want to think about it; otherwise he'd have to avada kedavra his best mate.

He leaned over and looked at Hermione's essay. His brow furrowed when he realized it wasn't a Transfiguration essay. It had to be an extra-credit essay. Why Hermione ever thought she'd ever need extra-credit in anything was beyond him; she was absolutely brilliant as far as he was concerned. He noticed Hermione looking at him.

"Have you finished your essay ?"

"Er, not really." Hermione gave a heavy sigh.

"Well, let me see it anyway. It can't hurt anything to go ahead and proof it now."

"Here." He thrust the parchment at her.

"No, Ron, you've described the wand movement wrong. It's like this." She picked up her wand and demonstrated. "You've got to hold it this way."

Unbidden, the idea of her holding _his _wand came to mind. "Right." Eager to change the subject, he said, "Why aren't you writing your Transfiguration essay?"

"Because I finished yesterday." She took a deep breath and continued to look over his essay. "Other than the wand movement, you're on the right track."

She went to pick up one of the books she'd been using as a source and Ron caught the title: _Dragons and Other Scary Scaly Creatures_


	12. Neville Longbottom

Yet another one written for a drabble challenge at sorting(underscore)(underscore)hat on livejournal. The requirements were: 250 words and the words coke, thestral, green, and broken. Set post-Hogwarts and post-war. References to character death. Neville/Luna.

* * *

Sitting on his back deck, in America, Neville Longbottom watches his children—three beautiful little girls that look everything like Luna and hardly like him—running and playing tag. It has been twelve years since the war against Voldemort ended, since his classmates sacrificed themselves to defeat Him. Thinking of Harry and Ginny makes him sigh as he sips from his coke.

Despite the distance and time that separate him from his native land and youth, he can remember the times he shared with his friends now departed. He remembers stuttering as he asked Ginny to the Yule Ball after Hermione had turned him down in his fourth year. Wincing, he recalls spending most of the evening stepping on her feet because he was nervous and she looked so pretty. He knows he had fun that night, even if she had spent half of it staring at Harry in his bottle green robes.

From his fifth year, he remembers the thestral ride to the Department of Mysteries, the ensuing skirmish, and his broken nose. This leads him to think of Bellatrix Lestrange. He scowls and thinks of her fate; killed in one of the many battles at Hogwarts. Killed at his hands. The only life he'd ever taken.

After it was all said and done, mass memorials held, he had worked up the courage to propose to Luna. She surprised him by saying yes. When she was pregnant with Elaine, their first, they'd decided to leave Britain and start anew.


	13. Squicky Fic Numero Uno

**Summary:** Harry muses on his marriage, what love really is, and if he could persuade his wife into having an open marriage.

**Notes: **This drabble is written for the Squick Fic challenge at sorting__hat on lj. The challenge was this: "Fairly simple, a fic of the length of your choice, from 100 words up to 1000+.  
The only rule is that is has to include either a pairing you hate, or some sort of weird squicky thing. (**Squick**_ noun _something that "grosses one out"; something of a displeasurable nature.)" And I hate it when Harry decides he's gay after nineteen years of marriage to Ginny--especially when it's in favor of Draco Malfoy. (Yes, I did write another H/D...blech.)

* * *

Harry didn't understand why he had married Ginny—or at least, why he was still married to her. It wasn't that he didn't love her. Spending over nineteen years with a person meant you at least learned to care about them, and he had cared about her before they got married. He had believed he loved her. He hadn't known much about love at the time and had believed that the attraction and affection he had for her meant he loved her. If, at that time, he had possessed a better understanding of the business of love, he would have realized that he felt a slight inclination towards Ginny, though greater an inclination than he had ever felt for any of the other girls he had ever even imagined being involved with prior to his wife, but that inclination was not truly love. It was the fulfillment of expectations of the family he had come to call his own. It was accepting her love for him and appreciating the way it made him feel. It was not, let it be reiterated, actual love.

Now, as a man of thirty-seven, with much life experience under his belt, he understood what he felt for Ginny was not romantic love. Nor was it strictly platonic love. It was a deep and abiding friendship with the slightest sexual attraction. Harry had come to realize, after years of locker room showers with men of all different shapes and sizes, he simply preferred men to women.

He wasn't sure how to break the news to Ginny or if he even should. Because, honestly, he did love her and still wanted to take care of her as he had for the last nineteen years. He wondered if he could talk her into having an open marriage. He also wondered if Draco's marriage to Astoria was as empty as rumor held it to be.


	14. Squicky Fic Numero Dos

**Summary:** _Freckled fingers threaded through pale blonde hair, pulling him closer to her. Rose Weasley wanted Scorpius Malfoy as close to her as possible._

**Notes: **This drabble is written for the Squick Fic challenge at sorting__hat on lj. The challenge was this: "Fairly simple, a fic of the length of your choice, from 100 words up to 1000+.  
The only rule is that is has to include either a pairing you hate, or some sort of weird squicky thing. (**Squick**_ noun _something that "grosses one out"; something of a displeasurable nature.)" Scorpius/Rose is a pairing I loathe.

* * *

Freckled fingers threaded through pale blonde hair, pulling him closer to her. Rose Weasley wanted Scorpius Malfoy as close to her as possible. At fifteen, she was convinced this brooding Gryffindor-whose-family-was-convinced-he-should-have-been-a-Slytherin was the love of her life. He set her body aflame with desires she'd never known before in her life. Before discovering the taste of his lips, her greatest ambition had been, quite simply, to surpass her mother in everything she had done. It would not have been enough for her to be at the top of each of her courses, for her to be satisfied she had to be the top of every course offered at Hogwarts, to make the highest scores seen since the schools inception, to get an O in every subject on her OWLs _and_ on her NEWTs.

Yet, here she was bent backwards over a desk in one of the least frequented corners of the Hogwarts library with Scorpius pressing her into her revision notes with the weight of his body on hers and OWLs only weeks away. This was crunch time; she should have been spending every waking hour not spent in class (or at meals) studying. Instead, she was spending every waking moment (in class, out of class, at meals) thinking of Scorpius Malfoy's soft, fine hair, his steel blue eyes, the taste of his mouth, the feel of his hands under her jumper, and the scratch of his wool trousers against her thighs. The thought of him drove her mad—almost as mad as the actual feel of him with her.

Their fathers would be furious. Her mother would be disappointed. His mother would have another glass of expensive chardonnay. The parental outrage, for her, would be horrible; disappointing her parents was unacceptable and utterly unbearable. As his teeth gently pulled at her bottom lip, she suspected that it might actually be the point for him. She hoped, oh-so-desperately hoped, that it was not the case, that he was as in love with her as she fancied herself in love with him.


End file.
